


Where Shadows Lay

by discountghost



Category: ATEEZ (Band), K-pop
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ancient Greek Religion & Lore Fusion, Alternate Universe - Mythology, Aphrodite!Wooyoung, Apollo!Yunho, Ares!Jongho, Dionysus!Jackson, Hades!Hwa, Hermes!San, M/M, Mythology - Freeform, Nemesis!Yeosang, Persephone!Hongjoong, Poseidon!Mingi, ateez as Greek gods, choi san is giving eros a run for his money, hongjoong is precious, mentions of various idols, some minor self loathing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-27
Updated: 2019-09-27
Packaged: 2020-11-02 10:37:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20717393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/discountghost/pseuds/discountghost
Summary: The fates are a tricky thing.





	Where Shadows Lay

There were many things that Seonghwa expected of a party with the wine god Jackson spearheading it, and the abundance of flowers was not among them. Perhaps they were, but not to this magnitude. Creeping vines coiling around columns; rose heads that he swore giggled if one of the party-goers got close. (Not for him. They’d never laugh for him.) He sniffed, slightly taken aback by the prevalence of the floral scents. Powerful, but not unpleasant.

Nymphs flitted about, easily moving around him as they carried gifts and platters. The maenads made themselves known in their boisterous singing, voices filling the space better than any speaker crafted by mortal hands might try. He swallowed as one shot him a particularly nasty look when he drew to close. Her grip tightened on her bone knife and he moved in the opposite direction. The waves of people parted for him without delay. Some annoyed, some visibly alarmed at his appearance. 

Because who expects _ the _ god of death at one of Jackson’s parties?

They were distantly acquainted — okay, _ very _ acquainted, at best; Jackson had a habit of getting into the personal spheres of many mortals and immortals alike — and this wasn’t exactly the place for someone like him. But Jackson had gotten him here because “The people are getting worried.” He’d liked to have asked what people the wine god had spoken of, but there was also the obligation of needing to be present for this particular party if he wished to remain in the god graces of _ all _ the gods on the pantheon. Soon enough, he would find himself demoted and resources restricted if _ Hera _ at least didn’t find him appealing.

Speak of the goddess — she turned to face him in the crowd as he approached, her smile dropping just the slightest. From genuine to cordial. He donned his own business smile like a shield. She’d changed; most of the gods did. Stagnancy was not to their benefit. Hair dark brown, eyes a tantalizing green. He wondered which conquest of her husband’s she’d slain to attain their features.

“Hera — beautiful as ever, I see.” The praise slipped from him like satin, though the pleasantry in his tone didn’t reach his eyes. 

The goddess of the heavens smiled a little more forcefully at the greeting. “Call me Wendy.”

He could feel his brow twitch, the bite of a remark sitting just on his tongue. But instead, he nodded. “Noted.”

“It’s not any different what you’ve been calling yourself, _ Seonghwa _.”

“Please; it’s a name your husband has given me.” And, of course, they all followed suit. Even he. Shed his old name for the sake of tasting a drop of acceptance —-

“Brother! Little star!”

He flinched. Turned on his heels in time to be engulfed in a hug by Eden. _ Eden _. Seonghwa wasn’t sure he liked that particular name. It belonged to the deity of some other religion flitting around in the last couple centuries, and bad blood among theistic thoughts had always been a problem they wished to avoid. He reciprocated the hug readily, drinking in the warmth of the other for a moment before they drew apart and maybe this time his smile reached his eyes.

“I didn’t think Jackson could convince you to come!” Eden gave him a hearty slap on the back. He stumbled forward, hands jerking up to protect the gift in hand.

“I thought it would be expected of me to attend, given in is the spring equinox and all.”

Wendy chuckled. “But who would have thought you’d leave that dungeon of a kingdom. I thought you liked digging through the muck and grime for corpses?”

What had Eden now for him to become the subject of her misplaced vexation? He glanced at the god in question, who seemed oblivious to his wife’s comments.

“Yes, well, as a major deity, it is required of me to be here. Especially when we welcome a new god into our fold.” Smile kept cordial, he turned his attention to searching the crowd for the god of honor. 

Eden cupped his cheek, redirecting the other to where he needed to see. “There, little star.”

He would be irritated if he hadn’t already forgotten his brother in favor of examining the subject of honor. His filled with cotton, he stared dumbly across to the throne gilded with flowers and bouquets, at the god seated there.

Red hair. The red of flowers and the sweet insides of a grapefruit. Lips that curled into a smile to let loose gales of laughter that could rival the notes of Yunho. He knew the sound well. Had heard it replayed in his head for near a century. The lavender of the silk shirt hung from his shoulders, draped over his frame so directly opposite the white pants clung to it. The god seated in the throne was not someone new to him and by all the gods in the room, he could probably never have forgotten Hongjoong. How fitting a name he had. The god turned his head, as if sensing the gaze of the older lived immortal on him, just as Jackson made his grand appearance. 

The wine god took a moment to appraise him, frowning slightly. “You’re dressed for work.”

“Why, yes, I am because I just left work, my dear Jackson.”

“As absolutely ravishing as you look in that suit, Seonghwa, I said come dressed to _ dance _.”

“You know very well that I don’t dance.”

“Not anymore.” The whine in his voice was only slightly annoying. It was something Seonghwa had gotten used to hearing. He leveled the other god with an unimpressed stare as he wrapped arms around him. “And now you don’t even hug me. What has the world come to?”

“Death and destruction.” The pair glanced over at Wendy as she sipped at his draining cup of nectar. “Yours and Jongho’s specialties.”

Seonghwa inclined his head, unable to deny it. He had not seen the god of war yet, but he assumed he would be challenging one of the maenads to a duel in no time at all. Would make for great entertainment, but the clean up of all the fruit afterward would be just short of tedious.

The gift bag was snatched out of his hands unceremoniously. Wendy had taken his momentary distraction as an opening and rifled through the black and gold gift paper. A raised brow in his direction, presumedly in regards to the color scheme, before she dug far enough in to reach the two boxes.

“Oh my, Seonghwa, maybe you have taste, after all.” His eye twitched at the mock surprise. It faded, though, as she opened up the boxes. She dropped them back in the bag and shook her head. “Really? Diamonds? _ For a spring god _?”

“Diamonds _ aren’t _ bad gifts.” At least Jackson was on his side. “I wouldn't mind a few, myself.”

“The gold might be passable, but diamonds are very much last millennia for a spring god.”

Voice strained, he took the bag back from Wendy without further delay. “Pardon my not keeping up with the trends. I _ have _ been stuck in a dungeon for the majority of this millennia to deal with the mortals you so love discarding when you’re done playing with them.”

“What’s _ that _ supposed to mean?”

“Exactly what I said.”

“Why don’t you go give those diamonds to Hongjoong, then, little star? And then enjoy the party.” Eden’s grin was bright, despite the worry creeping into his tone. He made haste in steering a seething Wendy in the opposite direction, murmuring something about a nice ambrosia platter that she could appreciate or denigrate as she so chose.

He paused, gaze flickering back to the couple as a distraction from who he didn’t want to risk looking in the eyes just yet. It was likely that Wendy was right and that these gifts were outdated and thus would fall short of what they were supposed to be. Would they offend Hongjoong? A hand on his back pulled him back into the moment, a grinning Jackson filling his space.

“You’re nervous.”

“I am not nervous.” He sniffed, turning his attention anywhere but where it needed to be.

“Yeah, you are. About Hongjoong.” Another sniff. “Don’t worry about what Wendy said; he’ll like them. He’ll be delighted to think of what he can pair them with — trust me on that one.”

Seonghwa nodded, muttered another “I’m not nervous” but it’s empty air that responded. Jackson had left him to mingle with other guests of his party; it looked as though Jinyoung had managed to incite the saytrs into a frenzy again.

Alone. He wished he was more alone — no crowd, no party, no need to cross the threshold that suddenly seemed to stretch on for miles. But he was here and he had a gift to deliver and so he made his way to do so. The faster it was done, the faster he could recede to the Underworld and ask Yoongi to grant him very specific dreams. His steps were measured and calculated, finding a route to avoid the most people. It was as much for them as it was for him. 

A line had formed. He’d expected as much. An array of guests come to give their congratulations and greetings. There was a radiance to Hongjoong, to his smile as he looked each one in the eyes and engaged them in conversation for a moment before they moved on. He would laugh on occasion and Seonghwa found himself more entranced. Enough that he missed the way his presence had been noted and people had scrambled to make way for him. The line dispersed just by him standing there. It might have been useful some other time, but not in this moment.

Hongjoong beckoned him forward and he was struck with the similarity of their first meeting. The god of spring had beckoned him forward the same way near a century ago. A chance meeting, really. It was not oft that he spent his time topside, but Eden had been wanting very greatly to brag of something — he’s since forgotten what it was — and had pleaded with him to see. Unable to refuse Eden, he’d come. The fresh air was nice. He could remember how sweetly it smelled. A curious thing it had been at the time until he realized it had been the scent of the spring god on the wind. 

Cloistered by flowers, he’d lounged on a bed of hydrangea and vines cradling his head. It was not something he was unused to seeing, the scene that had played out before him. Seonghwa would need more hands to count how many nymphs he’d seen do something similar. He watched as the god plucked strawberries from the wreath on his head, another one growing in its place. The fruit between his lips he’d turned as the grass beneath Seonghwa’s feet rustled where he tread through it.

He expected the surprise. He expected it to be followed by the same fear or disgust that often came from those around him. But instead, he was rewarded with a smile. “You’re Seonghwa.”

Not a question, no answer required. He stood a moment longer, smoothed his hands over his jacket. He tried not to look at the exposed chest of the other, shirt falling open and billowing slightly in the wind. And then the god — nameless to him then — crooked two fingers, calling him forward.

It was his own surprise that had drawn him in, ignoring the yellowing grass that followed in his wake. “How may I help you?”

“I’d like to speak with you, if that’s all right.”

“You’re doing it now.”

The god laughed, a song like music to his ears. Something within him buzzed, vibrated with pleasure and a want to hear it again. 

“I’m Hongjoong.”

“_The center of the world _?”

“Does not the world revolve around the coming of spring?”

Seonghwa nodded. “That’s a fair assertation.” 

The answering grin was broad, pleased. “What brings you here, oh Overseer of the End?”

“The whims of Eden.”

“Ah.”

A beat of silence. Understanding passed between them; Eden had a way of...needing others to be aware of his latest achievements. Regardless of their merit, or if his wife would be displeased by it. 

“And you?”

“Waiting for my mother to finish her business.”

He hummed his understanding. They fell into silence once more, but not an uncomfortable one. Seonghwa regarded the gardens around them. The petals every color of the rainbow danced with the breeze, flourished in the presence of the god. It made him want to further ignore the wake of dead foliage he’d left behind.

“I should get going. The souls aren’t going to sort themselves out.”

Hongjoong peered up at him, squinting in the sunlight. “They aren’t.”

The meeting was short and uneventful, but Seonghwa couldn’t be expected to forget it when someone other than Eden didn’t greet him with a smile. Seldom did he ever get a smile true enough to tolerate. But the spring god smiled at him still like their first meeting. He tried not to think too deeply about the way his breath caught in his throat.

“Seonghwa.” His voice remained as sweet as when he’d first heard it. “I didn’t know you would be here.”

He offered up a smile to Hongjoong, not quite sure what expression he should put on. Something congratulatory, perhaps. “I would be...doing myself a disservice to not be here for such an occasion.” The bag dangling by its straps suddenly bears the weight forty caskets against his fingers.

If possible, Hongjoong looked more brilliant up close. The strawberries have been replied with little violet blossoms, a stray bee drifting through the petals. He watched it a moment before he realized that the other had spoken to him again. “Pardon?”

“I asked if that bag was for me.”

“Oh! Yes. Right. It is — for you.” He stepped forward to hand it over. Fingertips brushed and he jerked back. “Apologies; my hands are rather cold.”

The spring god frowned and a celestial blade wrenched through his heart. “I don’t mind.”

They hovered in a space between awkward and lingering as if one wanted to say something to the other. But Seonghwa closed it off by bowing, deep so he wouldn’t need to see his face. He could stare at the blacks of his shoes instead. He could consider the deep hue while saying his farewells and be off to the recesses of divinity once more. “I hope the evening sees you well and truly welcomed, Hongjoong.”

“Leaving already? Stay a while.” The eyes. They widened and he pouted and Seonghwa was amazed he had the power to say no.

“Hades does not run itself.”

“Did you just refer to yourself in the third person?” The god of death knew it to be a joke before it had even left the other’s lips fully; found himself unable to stop the smile that creeped up. 

He lifted one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. “Maybe.”

There it went. That laughter. Perhaps exaggerated to save him face, the honored god threw his head back. Or maybe it was the ridiculousness of the moment. Seonghwa in all his darkness in the midst of a colorful party he had no business being at. A mirthless chuckle left him as a cold coil settled over him. 

“Truly; I must get going.”

“See you soon, oh Overseer of the End.”

Short. Pleasant. He wondered if Hongjoong would remember it as vividly as he did. Then again — he remembered most things with clarity unless he wanted otherwise. And there was very little doubt that he would want to remember this meeting.

His steps thudded as they carried him further away from the spring god. With his back turned, he wouldn’t notice the lingering stare. But he would play it off if he did as simply being part of his imagination. Something he’d cooked up to satisfy the ever-present ache for acceptance.

Jackson clapped him on the back as he left, but offered no words of empathy. Not when his immortal husband had _insisted_ on wreaking havoc. The maenads had been stirred into action and true to his previous predictions, Jongho had made an appearance to best them all. Seonghwa ducked to avoid a jawbone refashioned as a weapon as a nymph was tossed across the hall.

Perhaps he’d chosen the perfect time to make his exit.

.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.

Souls were not to be handled lightly.

It was the simplest of concepts, and yet that was what every immortal seemed to forget. He did not fault them for this; in their great divinity that had predilections to flaunting such power for the sake of gaining followers. Not too different from the too complicated networking of social media that mortals had contrived in the last few decades. The only difference was that one didn’t often end up sending droves of souls to the shores of the River Styx for Seonghwa to sort out.

“Ma’am, if you would please make your way to see the Furies, they might be able to work out some arrangement for dealing with your husband.” He rubbed his temple, eyes drooping closed. Revenge was not his favorite past time, but at least the furies would be busy. Tisiphone’s eyes gleamed at the mention of the collective’s name, planting a kiss on his cheek before whisking away the soul.

This was where San found him, knee-deep in the water of the Styx. There were souls unversed in the ways of Charon and had risked crossing the river themselves. Seonghwa, on any other occasion, despised the disorder of shrieking souls as they were swept away by the current, but he hated it more as a mother waded in with her infant and toddler, drenched from her watery demise.

The soul lifted from the waters and both she and the god attempting to rescue her panic. Until he noted the drop of shimmering feathers, felt the breeze of winged shoes that belonged to only one messenger god. San grinned down at him and the soul, carrying her to the other side of the river. 

“Thank you, San. You didn’t need to do that.”

“You can thank me after we handle the mess Thalassa has made.”

He felt his eye twitch, fingers pressing to his temples now. Of course; leave it to a primordial to have a tantrum and overturn ships in their wake. “Certainly.” If he could, he would have told the Styx to freeze over and allow them passage, but for how long? The goddess behind the river had other things to do and would not take too kindly to her routine being ruined. The water slowed for no on.

He watched the hourglass turn three times before the flow of souls ebbed. Most had been sorted, their situation explained before they were guided to where they needed to be. He really would need to find an appropriate means of thanking the other god as he plopped down into the black lounge chair in Seonghwa’s office.

He grimaced at the trail of mud and river water he trudged behind him, the pristine tiles marred. Cleaning it would be no difficult task, but an annoyance. At least he didn’t need to worry about two sets of tracks. He didn’t want to be ungrateful — not in the least — but it had bothered him from the moment the god had arrived.

“San. Why...are you here?”

The messenger of the gods only usually came to do his job; most of his spare time was spent with childish antics with other gods. Gods that _ weren’t _ Seonghwa. It could only be assumed that much of that had to do with gossip — it felt on brand for him — and him being here in the Underworld without having given him whatever message he needed to deliver yet? Suspicious. Or maybe Seonghwa was paranoid. Still; he could never be too cautious.

The other god considered him a moment before breaking out into a grin. “You’re a sharp one.”

“Yes, of course. That doesn’t answer my question.” His lips pulled down into a scowl, he discarded his tie over the back of his chair San stood up.

He crossed the space to sit on Hwa’s desk, grin never leaving his face. “I saw everything.”

“I beg your pardon?” A brow rose, as if to add emphasis to his confusion.

“I. Saw. Everything.” It was melodic; taunting and sing-songy. “At Jackson’s party. I saw all that tension between you and Hongjoong — and to be honest, I saw it over a century ago. Not to mention, like, all his mail.” San shuddered at that. He tried not to feel insulted.

“I’m not sure what you’re insinuating, but it wouldn’t do good to start tarnishing a god’s reputation not even a decade into their instatement.”

“Oh, _ come on _ , Seonghwa.” Hands thrown up, San fell back off the desk. Only to be caught by his staff, propping him as leaned against it. “I know you. I read your mail like everyone else’s. I hear what people say. I’m good at reading them, _ and you _ . And you — _ oh, boy _ — do you have it bad.”

The god snickered — outright _ snickered _ — in Seonghwa’s face. A shadow cast between them, as if the light was leaving the room. Creeping figures up the wall and chill nipping at the winged shoes the god wore. His smile dropped.

“I can assure you that there is nothing of the sort.”

“Listen — hey, _ relax _. I’m sorry about reading your mail and all that. I know that’s upsetting. But what’s more upsetting is seeing you seclude yourself down here.”

He can practically feel his own bitterness in the echo of the mirthless laugh that leaves him. “You’re worried about me?”

San shrugged. “Well, yeah. Dude, this is a _ stressful _ job. You didn’t exactly get much of a choice in this.”

“We did this fairly.”

“You left it up to chance. To _ fortune _. Tyche is Eden’s daughter. There was never a fair chance.”

There was a lot behind the lots cast. He would never say that Mingi had conspired with Eden for his place in the seas; the god didn’t have the mannerisms for it, and there were many times when he was made very aware that the other would have taken his place if his lot had been given to him as such. He never doubted the god. 

“But Yeosang —”

“Is also Eden’s son. And he had to leave part way through.” Yeosang _ had _ been present. Just before they’d pulled lots he’d been sent off to deal with a mortal conflict that threatened the state of the world. Underlying his thirst for retribution, he couldn’t think that the other wouldn’t have made some fuss about it. Maybe that was why had been removed.

Jaw clenched, Seonghwa said nothing. Not at first. He drew in a shaky breath, gaze trained on the pale wood of his desk. “And what does that have to do with Hongjoong?”

“What I’m trying to say is that you shouldn’t be alone down here. Not anymore.”

“Then why don’t you ever visit me?”

At this, San seemed the most serious he’d been since his arrival. He fidgeted with the hem of his shirt, lips pressed into a thin line. “I...didn’t think you tolerated me enough for it.”

“That didn’t stop you today.”

“I knew you’d need help.”

It would seem that they reached a bit of a standoff. Seonghwa regarded the scene outside his window. Charon guiding souls onto the ferry, finally back to the usual order of things. Souls lined up for the temporary housing that would be where they waited for their arraignment. 

“Thank you, for that.”

“It’s no problem.” He didn’t want to say he could hear the softness in the other’s voice. A breath of relief.

“So, aside from coming to help, you came all this way to tell me that you knew about my pining for a spring god?”

“When you put it that way, yes. But — no, no! That’s not why I’m here. Hongjoong is my friend, and while everyone else seems to be content in coddling him, I know he’s not an infantile god. And I want him to have fun. I want him to be happy, and he’s very certain that you can make him happy.” He couldn’t see it, but he wondered if San was fidgeting again. His grand speech wasn’t usual for him. The god of messages was not one to dole them out in such a fashion. “Invite him.”

“What?” His neck ached from how fast he’d turned his head. 

“Invite him here. He’s curious.”

“Hades isn’t exactly a tourist destination.”

“No, but _ you’re _ here. And you, like, never leave.” San held one hand out, and then the other, before slapping them together. “So invite him here.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“I can’t subject Hongjoong — your _ friend _ — to this.” He shouldn’t have to elaborate. Seonghwa had experienced that simple ‘this’ in conversation before. Sometimes it was ‘that’. Sometimes it was ‘there’. Regardless, the implication held with their tone, the same he used in that moment.

“You’re not subjecting him to anything. If he really doesn’t like it, he’ll leave. He’s too honest not to otherwise.”

Seonghwa groaned. San was right, or at least he felt he was. Seonghwa hadn’t ever gotten the impression that the god wouldn’t be honest about his feelings. “Fine.”

“Great! I’ve already got an invitation drafted for you. I’ll give it to him!”

“You _ what? _”

.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.

He was more nervous than he had ever been.

He wasn’t sure why that was, but it was. He had judged kings and commoners alike; heroes and villains that would be marked in history. And yet, never had he quite felt like this. Seonghwa’s hand smoothed down his blazer as he stared at himself in the mirror. All the powers that be could not suppress the dark bruises beneath his eyes and all the pinching wouldn’t bring color back to his cheeks. Being in the kingdom of darkness had changed him, but not by much. He wondered what about this appearance had appealed to the spring god to prompt his interest. Wondered what had made him wish to respond so quickly to the invitation San had sent out.

It had been drafted for close to a month before the messenger god had thought it appropriate to visit him and (with some serious editing) had been sent out only a day or two ago. Hongjoong responded within the hour, sending San back with a single flower. He swallowed, glancing down at his tucked in his chest pocket. The star-shaped flower had been gilded over in gold, but seemed to grow within his grasp when he’d first gotten it. Now, in full bloom, the nightshade had made a prominent appearance on his person.

From the window, just out of the corner of his eyes, he could see the gates opening. Charon had been advised on what to do with this particular visitor. Seonghwa’s mouth felt like it had been stuffed full of cotton, honey poured down his throat and his insides placed in jars. Hollow, numb. He wasn’t sure if it was nerves at their finest, or the foreboding in the back of his mind as he took in the other’s attire from the window. 

The material of his shirt was sheer, embroidered with the flowers Seonghwa had grown accustomed to seeing him in. The sleeves billowed around his arms, a pale shimmering purple. It was ghastly in the almost moonlight that plagued Hades. The tasseled shorts were no different. He soaked up the essence of Hades as he went, looking more and more like the shades around him — and not. 

Hwa wet his lips as the spring god was lead forward to the entrance of his palace. Though, palace wasn’t the right word for it. Eden had once remarked that it looked a lot more like an apartment complex, or an office building. He had not argued that fact. He counted down the minutes until his guest would arrive, would be in his face. He knew how long it took, considering how often he traveled it. 

With him came a breath of fresh air to combat the stagnant despair that filtered through the walls. The bright red of his hair seemed to dull, but no less brilliant. The same could be said for his eyes as they turned toward the god of the dead. And then he smiled. Hwa might have felt his entire universe shatter and reform, but his face did not reveal it. Or at least he hoped it didn’t.

“Seonghwa — here I was thinking I’d have to wait another century to see you.”

The immortal in question dropped his gaze down to the floor. “Yes, well, something...came to light.”

“Is that so?” He wasn’t sure what to class the other’s smile as, but it wasn’t good for his health. “I’m glad it did, then.”

The silence was awkward, for the first time since they met. It was only their third meeting; the novelty of it was only slightly fading and that left Hwa floundering for conversation starters. He could not just as simple things anymore. By now, he was supposed to be a little more acquainted with the god. That was how divine courting worked, didn’t it?

“How has your installment been going?” Right; leave it to him to talk about business.

Hongjoong doesn’t dull, taking a step further into his office. “Well, actually! I was worried that the others wouldn’t see much purpose in me. Or like me.”

“That’s nonsense; you’re perfectly likable.”

“Wendy seemed...nice to me, despite what all the rumors and stories say.”

Seonghwa tried not to look like he’d choked on his own spit. “Are you sure you aren’t a god of friendship or adoration? That doesn’t exactly happen often where _ Wendy _ is involved.”

There it was again — that laugh. It was small, maybe nervous. “I’m sure. Mother has made sure of such, herself.”

“She’s been going by Hyuna now, hasn’t she?”

Hongjoong nodded, ran a finger over the Hemlock wood of a bookcase. “The mortals seem to really like that name these days.”

A brow rose, a comment on his tongue. Seonghwa reconsidered it in favor of talking about something else. No one liked talking about their parents when they were trying to be wooed. He certainly wouldn’t. 

Memories of Kronos were seldom welcome. Not even the smaller, happier moments could be visited without some air of irrational panic. His stomach dropped. He wiped the palms of his hand on his pants before turning his attention to his visitor. To Hongjoong; not a ghost of the past, but a presence of the present.

“I’m not sure if you were hoping for one, but could I offer you a tour?”

It was there that the god brightened. Flashed his smile in its full brilliance. “Really? You’d give me a personal tour?”

“I would not send my guest on a tour with someone other than myself.” He hoped his returned smile didn’t seem stiff. 

“Well, then I would be delighted.”

Once more, he wiped his palm down his jacket, fingers passing over the fine golden stitching of branches. He hoped it wasn’t his mind playing tricks on him when the other god follows the path of his fingers along the threads. It had been done for him, anyways. A whole suit tailor to appeal to one specific Olympian. 

He offered his arm and it was then that he noticed the ornate rings that rest on the other’s fingers. But what he was mostly focused on was how small the other’s hands were to begin with. The rings seemed to swallow up any skin they could, little spaces of flesh peeking out between them. Seonghwa swallowed, gaze flickering up to Hongjoong. 

“Let’s be on our way then.”

His usual mode of transport around Hades was oft one of the ferrymen that littered the shores to ferry nymphs and other gods that worked within his purview. Today, however, was a day for the chariot of the dead. At least, it had been insisted on by the Furies, and Yeosang when San had dragged him down to discuss the details of the day. This was supposed to be about impressing the god of spring, after all. He, though, didn’t much like the garish nature of it.

The chariot itself rode upon the backs of the damned. In the most literal sense of the phrase. They carried it, a howling procession that passed it to the ones before it taking their place at the front of the line as quickly as they could. To miss the chance back in place meant fading — or condemnation to the depths of Tartarus. And everyone learned what was held within Tartarus’ moaning maw.

The chatter of bones sounded as the chariot pulled toward the front of the building. His eye twitched at the sight of it. More damned, conniving skeletons making up the base structure of the chariot. He felt his cheeks heat as they crowed out obscenities. He might have kicked it after he’d guided Hongjoong into it.

“There isn’t...very much to see down here, I’m afraid, but what I can offer is to show you how it works.” Seonghwa snapped his finger, the chariot jerking forward slightly before ambling on. It was better than when they tried speeding ahead. He’d very much like to not make Hongjoong chariot-sick while here.

“I’ll see whatever you show me.” Another smile.

He wished his heart would be still. And that the shades would stop their cackling. It grated at his ears and he was sure it did the same to Hongjoong. They pulled forward towards the river, skirting just at the edge. Water splashed up at the sides and the chariot hissed. 

“This...is Styx.” She was a dazzling expanse of ink-black water, never ceasing in her course. Forever moving with the flow of time. There was comfort in knowing that she would never change, even if there were instances in which that was very much inconvenient. But she and Seonghwa had been good friends (perhaps that was a bit of a stretch; they were amicable, but not truly friendly) over the ages, and what mattered was that she did her job as well as anyone else.

She stretched on for...he didn’t know how long. He’d never ventured to ask, and finding out ran the risk of never coming back. Many souls had been swept away in her current, and if he were being honest, there was likely not much that kept the same from happening to him outside of his godhood. The mortal waters would never be the same to him. Or perhaps she counted him among the few that would be spared her indifference.

Little boats dotted the wide berth of the water, carrying the faintly glowing silhouettes of souls. Back and forth they went, slow and careful. Their oars dipped into the water, disappearing in the waves. The souls huddled close or sat far from the ferryman, unintelligible questions filtering over the sound of the water coursing forward.

“The souls cross here. They pay the ferryman Charon their drachma, their gold, their won — whatever currency they carry as ordained by Pluto.” He gestured over to the aforementioned ferryman, passing the oar through the way some distance in. “Often times, he will have some of his retinue carry them across. Heroes — demigods and blessed mortals — and anything touched with divinity are what he tends to ferry across himself. He...likes to comfort them as they cross.”

Hongjoong was silent at his side, but the grip of his hand tightened. His touch burned through his jacket, down to his skin. Seonghwa glanced down at his arm, then back to the god. “I understand this might be a little unnerving.”

The spring god blinked, then chuckled. “I don’t find it unnerving. Okay, _ maybe _ a little, but it’s different.” He scratched at the nape of his neck, pearly white teeth biting into the pink flesh of his lips. Seonghwa had to look away, back to the darkened plains of his kingdom. “It’s nicer than what everyone says.”

“Yes, well, few have visited and the story has been...altered to suit the needs of others.” The words sat heavy in his mouth, even as he made it past the gates of his teeth. “Not everyone is so eager to see what is the truth, and what is not.”

He wasn’t...cross with Jackson. Jackson had a knack for embellishing and the one tale he told of his visit to the underworld had been shifted through his grapevine to the extent that it might hardly seem recognizable. That was not the wine god’s doing, but rather the fault of those who had relayed the story wrong. And aside from that, he could never be cross with Jackson. The other made it literally impossible.

“I’ve never believed them, and now I have even less reason to.” Seonghwa looked down at Hongjoong — he could almost coo at how much smaller the spring god was — and smiled the easiest he’d been able to that day.

Hwa motioned the chariot to the side, toward a field of waving grass. The chariot slowed further, and he was reminded of an amusement park ride that Eden had forced him to go on. Something that was to mimic some oddity called Jurassic Park. Whatever that had been. It was an easy glide over the glittering fields, as the first of the asphodels came into view. They waved, the few flowers cheerful in his sight, and greeted him using the voices of souls passed and gone. A chorus of _ hello! _s sounded as they passed, and he murmured greetings.

Hongjoong let go and he suddenly wasn’t as warm as he had been before. The god of spring and its growth was soon enamored with the flowers of the Fields of Asphodel, and they with him. The stretch of flowers appeared empty, for the most part, several souls milling about aimlessly. They turned to look at the ruler and his guest, though were more curious about the redhaired god that chattered so animatedly with the flowers.

“I was a baker! I think.” “I, a sailor!” “No! No, no; you were a waterboy.” “Oh.”

The overlaying conversation, broken and distorted as the voices called out what they were in both repetition and anew, soon overpowered the voices of the chariot. The Asphodel Fields were one of the few places that Hwa visited most frequently. It was better than Tartarus, but far, and still so than the Isles of the Blessed. He pursed his lips, glancing up at the waxing moon. Time passed differently down in the underworld, and he worried Hyuna would perhaps not remember that.

Clearing his throat, he approached the talkative cluster of flowers they’d come across. “Now, now. My guest has much to see. Say goodbye to Hongjoong; we will be back.”

“Aw!” “Bye, Lord Hongjoong!” “Bye, Gorgeous!”

Hongjoong’s laugh echoed as they pulled away, milling through the fields at a pace not quite leisurely.

“So these are the Fields of Asphodels.”

“I thought you might like it.”

“So the flowers — they’re souls?”

“Yes. When...mortals live a simple life, with no accolades and no crimes that would carry them elsewhere, they come to the fields. They wander, residing in complacency until they fade. When that happens, they become the flowers you see here.”

He looked out over the fields, the faintest of smiles on his lips. “Living a simple life is not bad. The beauty they bring with how they had lived — toiling as mortals just to get here — is what makes them this. Though, I suppose this might seem a little insignificant to a growth god.”

“No!” His voice was a lot closer than Seonghwa had expected. The chariot shook, the sudden movement jostling them. “No. This would never be insignificant. Just knowing that you’ve made them something that some of them might not have seen themselves as is something. I don’t think most gods consider that.”

“Most gods don’t get cursed and feared by mortals. They bring with them promises of greatness. I am the absoluteness of the end for most.”

“Some things need to end for something else to begin.”

“Yes, well...that’s not how those in the Mourning Swards feel.” The spring god’s brows furrowed as the asphodel fell away.

The tall grass gave way to shorter shoots of grass. Groves — mounds of dirt upturned as souls gnashed their teeth and tore at their ever repairing clothing, curses and confessions of deep love leaving their lips in turn — dotted the field. The souls turned their gazes toward their ruler and the curses rained down upon him. He did no more than blink, too used to their words to outwardly show any sort of reaction to them. His lips pursed, though, as Hongjoong retreated into his side, pressing in close. 

“The Mourning Fields. These souls spent their lives in unrequited love. Be it devotion to their god or to another, they died so deep in their harbored adoration that they ended up here. Forever to mourn what could have been, and what will never be.”

His gaze was unflinching as he locked eyes with one soul. A howl ripped through the air, a collective of anger, hatred, and lost love filling the space. When he glanced down, he was startled to find tears welling in Hongjoong’s eyes. Another snap of his fingers and they were moving again, sent off by a procession of thrown dirt wet with spittle, blood, and tears.

“I didn’t mean to — it wasn’t my intention to make you cry. My sincerest apologies. Are you alright?” His hands flitted around the smaller like birds unsure of where to roost. They settled tentatively for the other’s shoulders.

Eyes shining with tears, Hongjoong nodded. “It wasn’t you. It was...all of them. They never know if the one they loved so dearly loved them back because they never said what they should have.” He sniffed, taking the handkerchief Seonghwa offered him. He thumbed at the gold overlay a moment before drying his eyes. “They lived sad lives and this is what they got in the end because they couldn’t spare a moment of bravery. It’s understandable, both ways.”

Seonghwa blinked, not sure how to take that. There weren’t many aside from those who resided in Hades who understood the mechanisms of how it worked. Jackson hadn’t when he’d first come. San hadn’t ventured further than the Asphodel Fields to know. “What a wonder you are.”

Hongjoong’s brow rose, but he didn’t receive an answer outside of a simple shrug. Seonghwa would rather not go into detail about the words that he slipped out of their own accord. Instead, he sought the distraction of Elysium and thanked Yeosang in all his fairness for making their journey to it swifter. (Maybe not something he should have done, considering the god of fair distribution had a tendency to pop up more often than not when mentioned.)

The lush gardens of Elysium lay on the other side of Lethe. She splashed forth, eager to greet the spring god. But she remained at a distance, winking her watery eye at the pair. “Dearest Seonghwa! How little you see me!”

“Sweetest Lethe; it isn’t often we have a soul worthy of crossing your waters.”

The goddess laughed, her waters gurgled with her pleasure. “But you’ve a visitor? Who might this one be?” It was then she drew closer, chin resting in her crystalline hands. 

“Hongjoong.”

“Hongjoong!” Said like a revelation. “You’re the new one from the pantheon.” There was glee in her eyes but malicious in her voice. “You tell that uppity bitch Hera — or whatever she calls herself — that I might be the goddess of a river of oblivion, but I’ve not forgotten the shit she pulled in 43.”

The god glanced over at Seonghwa, not sure what she had meant by that. He shook his head just as Lethe’s voiced sounded again.

“Oh! My dearest Seonghwa!”

He excused himself before she could start on another round of her speech, to berate an immortal that she would forget about berating in favor of doing it again.

“She seemed nice.”

“She’s much nicer when the other gods aren’t concerned.”

“Bad blood with them all?”

“Just Wendy. Paramour of Eden, and all that.”

“Ah.”

He watched as Hongjoong’s attention drifted to the varying landscape of Elysium. Flowers of the rainbow sprang forth in welcome, trees waved in one of the few breezes within Hades. He wasn’t sure what Elysium looked like for Hongjoong; it had never had a truly static appearance. It was something else for everyone who saw it.

But they could not enter. Or, at least, they were not allowed in for the time being. A very obvious ‘do not disturb’ sat outside most of the scapes. That would be the one shared thing they could see. His lips pulled down into a scowl as he dropped down to the sands. Keonhee had been kind enough to make sure the moon shined its hardest here, rivaling the efforts of Yunho in shining the sun upon the mortal plane. Only a few steps and he felt he might melt in all his dark clothing.

Stripping his jacket as he went, Seonghwa glanced among the solitary paradises. There were a few that didn’t have signage to stay away, but he felt that he would be intruding regardless. He turned back to the chariot, deciding that a distant explanation would have to do, only to find the other staring at him intently. He felt he might have burned under that gaze a little more than the intensity of the moon. 

“Is something the matter?”

The other seemed to shake from a stupor, a rosy hue hitting his cheeks. It accentuated the shimmering purple dusting his cheekbones. “N-no. This is Elysium? They tell a lot of stories about it.”

“It is one of the few places within Hades that anyone favors speaking about, after all. Where the heroes, saints go to rest.” He turned back to look at the waving fronds of the palms. “Different for everyone. What is it you see?”

“I see...a garden.” And with his words, the landscape changed.

“As god of the dead, I am afforded the ability to see Elysium through the eyes of others if I wish. It’s usually just to monitor those that pass through, and that doesn’t happen often…” His voice trailed off as Elysium finished its renovation.

The garden was _ breathtaking _. Every flower, every blossom, every flowering plant known to mortal and immortal alike bloomed before him. They interwove themselves into an embrace too complicated and simple at once. He stepped back and a flurry of butterflies took flight behind him. Their many winges fluttered in the brilliance of the moon, blocking it for only a moment. Trees rose to shade him, and he nearly jumped out of his skin as he felt someone lock hands with him. When he looked down, he realized that it was Hongjoong’s fingers intertwining with his own.

“It’s beautiful.” It was no more than a whisper, breathy and awed. 

“It’s what you have seen it to be.” Emboldened by the direct skin to skin contact, Seonghwa pulled the god further to explore the Elysium he had crafted.

The colors danced around them, the moon lighting their way in the eternal darkness. Some flora glowed, some twinkled, and some were too bright to not be seen any other way. Once, they watched a deer leap through their path. The spring god had laughed — gods, he loved that laugh — just as a fawn followed after it.

Nestled deep in the center of this, though, was a pomegranate tree. Not alone, but amongst a cluster of them. Heavy with fruit, their branches dipped low. Before he could act, Hongjoong released his hold to run to the tree. The branches curved down toward him, dropping a fruit into his hand. Swift as can be, he turned the fruit over in his hand to find the right spot.

White teeth and pink lips were stained with the blood of the fruit. A watery burgundy that splurted forth as the spring god bit into the red skin. He wasn’t sure if he was yelling or not, but it sounded like someone was. Seonghwa rushed forward jacket discarded as he surged forward to knock the fruit from the other’s hands.

The pair stared wide-eyed at each other, Seonghwa fighting to get whatever Hongjoong had eaten out and Hongjoong alarmed at the sudden urgency. And then the spring god leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Seonghwa’s lips.

Surprised, the god of the dead opened his lips, fingers slick with the juice of the pomegranate as they gripped the other’s shoulder. A root behind his heel tripped him and put him on his back, deepening the kiss. He tasted like pomegranates and the cool tang of early spring. They slipped into an easy rhythm, the seeds passed between them like words between lovers.

A rumble shook them from their moment, and they swallowed. Realization sank in quickly like a soul dropped into the Styx or locked away into Tartarus. He watched Hongjoong’s throat work, swallowing the seeds he’d managed to keep in his mouth.

“What have you _ done _?”

Hongjoong smiled, but gave him no words.

“What _ have you done _, Hongjoong? You’ve doomed yourself to misery with me—”

“I don’t think so.”

Seonghwa scowled. “Being here, in the underworld, is not a pleasant experience. And you’re only just become an Olympian. Your prospects—”

“Fuck my prospects.” There was heat there, in those words. “I want you.”

A beat of silence. “Oh.”

“Yeah, ‘Oh’, you idiot.” No bite; just affection that weighed so heavily he felt his chest might cave in. “I’ve always wanted you.”

His mouth moved with something, wet with spit and pomegranate juice. He couldn’t form a thought outside of an intense urge to kiss the other. Right on the lips that curled into a larger smile, that let another laugh pass the god watched on.

“I don’t think your mother is going to like this.”

“Fuck my mother.”

A wince. “I do not think I would be especially inclined to do so.”

After a pause, his grin turned coy. “Then what about me?”

The laughter died in his throat, gaze dipping to the skin exposed when Hongjoong leaned forward. His tongue darted out to lick across his lips as he looked back up at the other. He wasn’t sure if that was any better. The only saving grace was another rumble, a disquiet within the kingdom of the dead. His brows furrowed before he heard the shrill cry of _ “Seonghwa!” _

Hongjoong’s mouth popped open, but whatever he had to say dissolved into giggles as his name was called. He wasn’t sure how many languages Hyuna went through to curse him and claim vengeance for the kidnapping of his son, but Seonghwa cast his gaze moonward and fell onto his back.

“I will have to deal with that.” The press of the other’s shoulder at his own made him look over. Red hair splayed out on the ground, eyelashes fanned out over skin as Hongjoong closed his eyes.

A chuckle, sweet and airy, underlaid the screeching of the harvest goddess. “Deal with it later; stay with me.”

“I think I will.” He linked through fingers together carefully and closed his own eyes, content to let Yoongi guide him into the bliss of sleep with the warmth of Hongjoong beside him.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! And thank Jackson for giving us the parties we needed to get our ships together.
> 
> [twt](https://twitter.com/discountghosts), [cc](https://curiouscat.me/remeremerem)


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